Timeless
by Slivering
Summary: "You left," he said, words threateningly low. "For seven damn years. And then you just show up on our front steps, without an explanation, and expect people to treat you like family." - Ryoga and Ryoma have a much needed bonding session while cooking spring rolls.


**Author's Notes: **I'm sorry if they're desperately out of character. I'm not as connected to the PoT characters as I used to be , but I was inspired to write this after a cooking lab in school, and Ryoga and Ryoma seemed to fit the role. The ending is unsatisfactory, despite that I planned it to end like that, but I hope the story is still somewhat enjoyable.

**Timeless**

Ryoga had disappeared on June 22nd, seven years ago, and Ryoma hadn't looked back since. Things without Ryoga were easier. He no longer had to fight over the spotlight, and stress about who would end up being the better tennis player. He no longer had to worry about his cap being stolen or sharing a bedroom. He didn't even have to worry about Ryoga not liking him because now Ryoga was gone, and that meant Ryoma didn't need to care. Ryoga disappearing made everything _perfect. _

Until, of course, he decided to exist again.

"Thai-style shrimp and cheddar spring rolls," Ryoga peered at the recipe. "How sassy."

Ryoma snatched the recipe back, and turned to the stove. His mother was punishing him for skipping English by making him cook dinner for the family. It was an excruciating task - how the hell was he supposed to know when the shrimp was cooked? Ryoga said they were supposed to turn pink, but Ryoma didn't want to listen to his dick wad of a big brother.

"You know," Ryoga leaned his head back against the fridge, slanted hazel eyes sparkling. "I would think you would be happy to see me. After all, it's been..." he counted on his fingers. "_Seven _years. Seven freaking years, Chibisuke."

Ryoma glared at him. "You weren't exactly a joy to be around."

Ryoga grinned, teeth as white as vanilla ice cream. "I could say the same for you. _Still _can. Have you even smiled since I came back?"

"Only when you're not around."

"So never? Because, you see, I've been tagging along everywhere you go. "

Despite the many comeback and curses broiling on the tip of his tongue, Ryoma simply bit his lip and moved the tinfoil to check on the shrimp. Some of them were pink, to his dismay, while others were still clear. _Is that cooked enough_? He didn't know - he'd never cooked in his life. But there was no way in hell he was voluntarily going to ask his brother.

Better to burn the shrimp and set the kitchen on fire than request something from Ryoga.

"Did you miss me?" Ryoga swung his long legs up over the granite counter, getting comfortable against the cabinets. "I mean, all things considered, I'm sure you did. We were pretty close back then, weren't we?" He laughed to himself. "You used to follow me _everywhere. _I always told you to stop bothering me, but you never, _ever _relented."

"Yeah, well," Ryoma's cheeks were warm. "Things are different now."

Ryoga bobbed his head up and down. "Of course! It's the other way around now. Now I'm following you and you keep telling me to get lost. It's quite ironic, actually." He slid crisply down the counter where Ryoma was trying to figure out how to chop a carrot. "So. You didn't answer my question. Didjya miss me at all? Even a little teensy bit?"

Ryoma carefully diced the carrot. "You talk too much."

"And you're really good at avoiding questions."

Determined not to be affected by Ryoga's pestering, Ryoma concentrated feverishly on dicing perfect carrots. Once the carrots were chopped, he moved onto the cheese, cautiously slicing it into thin strips. Despite this, he couldn't dismiss the heavy, blundering presence of his big brother that constantly weighed on his back.

"Don't you have things to do?" Ryoma said grumpily.

"Answer my question," Ryoga swept off the counter, and put his arms around Ryoma in a big, annoying bear hug. "Did you miss me?"

The word "No" was so prominent on the tip of his tongue that it took all of Ryoma's willpower to hold it back. He didn't want to hurt his brother's feeling - no matter how much of an ass he was. But he also didn't want to give in. "Get off of me," Ryoma sliced the cheese with force. "And go do something."

"I'm not leaving until you answer my question," Ryoga nuzzled his chin into Ryoma's hair. "And I'm pretty sure the shrimp's cooked by now."

"I know what I'm doing."

"About as much as I knew before Tokia dragged me to that cooking course."

"Your ex-girlfriend whore?" Ryoma asked.

"Jealous?" Ryoga retorted.

Ryoma elbowed Ryoga in the stomach, pushing him away. To his relief, Ryoga sauntered over the fridge, giving him room to breathe. He watched from the corner of his eye as Ryoga stuffed his face with an orange, and a wistful smile crept onto his face. He immediately wiped it off. He hadn't missed Ryoga.

Not even a little teensy bit.

"Really," Ryoga lifted the tinfoil by the stove. "The shrimp is seriously overcooked."

"Better than it being raw," Ryoma snapped back.

Ryoga opened his mouth to counter, but then smiled instead. "So, back to the question at hand. Did you miss me?" Before Ryoma could even get a chance to answer, he continued, "I know you're not going to reply, but let's go deep into why. One reason is because you're a stubborn Chibisuke. But the other is because you _did _miss me and just don't want to admit it, am I right?"

"You're an arrogant bastard," Ryoma spat. He immediately cursed for showing anger. He had to be calm. He could _not _show that he cared.

Ryoga looked hurt. "Why the harsh words?"

_Ignore him. Ignore him. IGNORE HIM. _Ryoma slammed the knife down onto the counter top, turned around, and scowled at Ryoga darkly. "You left," he said, words threateningly low. "For seven damn years. And then you just _show _up on our front steps, without an explanation, and expect people to treat you like family."

Ryoga's smile faltered. "Well, I can explain. Kind of."

"No," Ryoma whirled around again, taking the knife and chopping angrily. "No, you can't."

A moment of silence ensued. Ryoga glanced at the recipe, and started on the next step, unwrapping the packaging of the rice sheets. As he did so, he cleared his throat, and his voice for once lacked his usual confidence. "Family's timeless," he said. "Doesn't matter if I go away for seven years. I'm still your brother, and you know it."

Ryoma could feel the tense, rigidness of his own back. "Go away. And stop helping. I'm supposed to cook, not you."

Ryoga laughed quietly. "You're failing miserably at it. The shrimp is going to burn, and everything you're chopping looks like someone ripped the pieces apart with their hands." He lifted the rice sheet, and soaked it in warm water. "Let me give you a hand, okay? And we can talk. We have to talk about this."

"No," Ryoma said. "We don't."

"I'm your brother, Ryoma."

"You're a dick."

"A dick whose your brother. There. Happy?"

_No, _Ryoma thought, wiry nerves skidding up and down his spine. _I'm not happy. Why can't you go and bother someone else while I figure out if I missed you or not? The obvious answer is no. I mostly forgot about you. But there were those times... _Ryoma exhaled loudly, and quietly poured the overcooked shrimp into the peanut butter mixture, stirring it absentmindedly with a spoon. "Nii-san, can you pass me a rice sheet."

"Cooperating, are we?"

Ryoma sighed. "I just want to get this done so I can lock myself in my room with Karupin."

"A cat over me?" Ryoga feigned hurt. "This is tragic!"

Ryoma glowered. "You're not funny. Give me the rice sheet."

"Maybe I don't want to."

Ryoma lunged to grab it from him, but Ryoga stood on his tippy toes, holding it high above his head with a taunting smirk. "Can't reach, can you? Chibisuke's like you often can't. But that's okay, because I'm a good big brother." He lowered his arm, and Ryoma reached up for it hopefully, but he quickly shot it up again.

"On second hand," Ryoga smirked evilly. "Maybe I'm just a mean dick like you said."

Ryoma growled. "Give me the rice sheet."

"Don't I get a please?"

"Give it to me."

Ryoga didn't relent, instead embarking for the living room. However, before he could get far, Ryoma grabbed his wrist, and tugged roughly. "Just give it to me," he said wearily, his hazel eyes tired and somewhat distraught. "I just want to finish making this stupid dinner, and it's taking forever because of you."

The sopping rice sheet suddenly felt cold in his hands. Ryoga's brow furrowed. "Don't get all serious. I was playing with you."

Ryoma's eyes were dark. "Well, maybe I don't want to be played with."

"But maybe-"

Every nerve in Ryoma's body broke. "I didn't miss you," he snapped. "I didn't miss, okay? In fact, I forgot about you the moment you were gone. It was better without you - easier. I'd rather you just _left _and never came back." Ryoma leaned into Ryoga's stunned face. "And if you think I'm lying, go to my bedroom. I threw out all of your pictures, all of your stuff. So stop annoying me and-"

Ryoga stopped him then, his eyes wide. "You didn't miss me?"

"Not a single fucking bit."

With those crushing words, Ryoma snatched the rice sheet from Ryoga's limp hand, whipped back to the counter, and furiously began shoving the filling into the rice sheet, wrapping it up into a roll. His muscles and jaw were tense, and his fingers trembled as he finished off the first spring roll. Robotically, his movements filled with tension, he soaked another rice sheet. _C'mon, _Ryoma pleaded. _Get out of here now. Don't you get it?"_

Finally, after a few moments, Ryoga's steady footsteps disappeared out of the room, softly receding from the kitchen.

Ryoma dropped the roll he was working on, and shuddered. The tension from his body dropped, and he clenched both ends of the counter, staring at his half-halfheartedly made spring rolls. His eyes felt heavy with tears, but he blinked them back, blaming the onions despite the fact that onions weren't even in the recipe.

_I didn't miss him._

He swallowed audibly.

_I didn't miss him._

He turned on the tap, the water gushing over and drenching the rice sheet.

_I didn't miss him._

Ryoma's lip quivered, and he wished, so badly, that it was true.

**X**

Each spring roll looked quite appealing, Ryoma thought. He aligned four on each plate perfectly, before placing the plate on the table. Grabbing a few glasses from the cabinet, he poured water into each of them, the patter of the sound blocking out his thoughts. As he arranged them around the table, he hesitated over Ryoga's seat.

His chair had been empty for seven years, but no one had bothered to remove it. Ryoma's throat clogged up, and he slammed the cup down with more force than necessary. Water tumbled over the edge, spilling onto the table. _He deserved it, _Ryoma thought. _He deserved every single word I said._

His throat got tighter, and his eyes got wetter.

_Then why do I feel so crappy?_

A sudden clank brought Ryoma out of his thoughts, and his head rose tiredly to see who it was. Surprise crept onto his face when he saw Ryoga - back so soon - but the surprise doubled when he saw the large duffle bag he was holding in his hand. Sweat broke out in his palms, and he willed himself to stay focused on setting the table.

"Kaa-san and Oyaji still aren't back?" Ryoga asked. His face was a shadow by the stairwell.

"Not yet," Ryoma's voice came out as a whisper. "They'll be back at eight."

"Oh. Alright." Ryoga shifted, his eyes scanning the room. "Well, can you tell them I'm leaving? I'm sure they won't mind. They didn't seem that glad when I came back, anyway." He laughed weirdly, before making his way to the door. "I left my number on your desk, in case you need me, but you probably won't."

_What_? Ryoma's whole body quavered in his clothes. _You're leaving? Already?_

"What?" Ryoma's voice was weak.

"Stop gaping. It doesn't suit you." Ryoga's face glimpsed a smile. He reached for the doorknob, and twisted it. The door thrust open, and a gust of cool air swept into the room, cooling Ryoma's heated, overdriven body. His heart thumped rapidly against his chest, and he fought the nauseous urge to puke. "But wait," Ryoma said, panicked. "I set the table and -"

"You should move the extra chair," Ryoga said. "Four's a crowd, don't you think?"

Ryoma swallowed thickly. "Stay for dinner, at least. You can't leave without saying goodbye to kaa-san and oyaji."

Ryoga's smile dropped, and his eyes sharpened. "Now what makes you say that? I did it last time, didn't I?"

"But last time-"

"You said go away, didn't you?"

"Nii-san-"

"Bye."

Before Ryoma could say another word, Ryoga stepped outside, onto the porch steps. Ryoma could still see his back from the open door view, and he trembled feverishly at the sudden change of events. He felt rapid tears gather in his eyes, but dug his fists into them to block them out. _He deserved it. He can go to hell for all I care. I didn't miss him at all._

Ryoga stopped, and turned around. A sudden impish smile crept onto his face. "What's this? Am I wanted?"

_Go away. Please, go away._

"No," Ryoma said, voice as watery as his eyes. "Get the hell out of here."

Ryoga straightened up, and his smile changed to a straight line. "Okay," he said - pleasantly enough, with underlying tension ridden beneath it. "I'm leaving now." He followed true to his word, and in a mere moment, he swept out of view and onto the barren sidewalk. Ryoma stared at the open door for a long time, his knees barely holding him up.

Then, he closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped.

_Bye, Ryoga._

With resignation, he trudged over to the dinner table, hands numb as he pretended to reset the whole thing. Slowly, desolately, he re-arranged each glass of water, and each plate of spring rolls. _I wanted this, _he thought. _I wanted him to leave, and now I'm getting what I wanted. I should be happy, shouldn't I?_

He stared at the spring roll on Ryoga's plate.

_Family's timeless. Doesn't matter if I go away for seven years. I'm still your brother, and you know it._

Oh, god. He was going to regret this for the rest of his life, but he was going to regret it even more if he didn't do it.

Stashing a spring roll into his pocket, Ryoma slid on his tennis shoes and raced out of the door. His eyes swerved to the sidewalk, where Ryoga's figure was fading into the distance. He breathed in a lungful of air, and thought about what he was going to, and what a bad idea it was. But then he realized he didn't care.

He sprinted down the sidewalk, the wind freely hitting his face. When he reached closer, he yelled, "Nii-san!"

Ryoga stopped, and turned around. His eyes widened.

Ryoma ignored every fiber in his body that told him - _no, don't do it. Don't give in. _He ignored every single thought in his mind that said - _this isn't you. This is awkward. This is a horrible, terrible idea. _He ignored all of it, and before he could change his mind, he swept forward and hugged his big brother as tight as he could.

Ryoga yelped at first, stumbling back at the sudden attack. But then he laughed, and strong arms rejoiced around Ryoma's back, pulling him close. Ryoma crumpled under the warmth, and he wondered how he ever managed to lie about it all in the first place. _I did miss you, I missed you so fucking much. _Ryoma trembled, but this time it wasn't from fear.

"So I'm guessing you did miss me."

Ryoma muffled out a "Shut up," before stepping back. Ryoga was grinning widely, and Ryoma felt utterly overwhelmed.

"That was such a chick flick moment," Ryoga said wickedly.

Ryoma rolled his eyes, hid a smile, and pulled out the spring roll from his pocket. "Want a spring roll?" he asked.

"With your overcooked shrimp?" Ryoga snorted. "No thanks."

"But _I_ made it," Ryoma said cheekily. "And since I'm your little brother, you have to eat it."

"Little brother, my ass," Ryoga said. "Little brothers aren't so mean to their big brothers, you know."

"Family's timeless," Ryoma mocked. "Doesn't matter if I'm mean to you. I'm still your brother, and you know it."

They both stared at each other. Then, Ryoga broke into laughter, yanked Ryoma into a headlock, and stuffed the crappy-tasting spring roll into his mouth. Because family, no matter how many fights they got into, _was _timeless, and Ryoma would always hang onto that. Even if Ryoga thought his spring rolls tasted like "Peed on dishrags."

**The End.**


End file.
